


You Mean That Arnold Rimmer?

by kronette



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story came about from a discuss with <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Holo_Bayliss"><b>Holo_Bayliss</b></a> regarding another story I wrote, on how we've never seen our regular Rimmer brave and it being acknowledged by the crew. Not Ace, not a time loop erasure, just our Rimmer. Published 11 Sept. 2011</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Mean That Arnold Rimmer?

He watched, in slow motion, as Cat went down. The Cat’s normally incredible reflexes were absent as he went sprawling, limbs akimbo, onto the orange-tinted grass. The bazookoid he’d been carrying went flying in an impressive arc to land in a tan-colored water puddle, splashing up the brown liquid in a sparkling display.  
   
The impressive spray of the Cat’s blood was equally riveting as it spattered over the Cat’s clothes from his shoulder, nearly invisible on the orange grass. Droplets decorated Rimmer’s shoes as he stared down at them in numbed shock.  
   
He’d been legging it back to Starbug and relative safety when the first shots were fired by the Simulants. At the pained yowl, he’d stopped and turned around to see the Cat go down.  
   
His numb brain began processing information at an incredible rate. Cat was still breathing. Kryten was yards behind Lister, who was coming up fast, but not fast enough. The stagnant water released a rotten fruit smell. Simulants, three of them, were firing weapons and narrowly missing Lister as he dodged to the left, then right. Cat wasn’t moving. Kryten took a glancing blow to his right leg and stumbled, but kept going. Cat’s bazookoid was in the water puddle just a few feet from him. Lister skidded around a large rock and began blasting the Simulants from its protection, trying to give Kryten cover.  
   
He took a step, then another, until his arm reached down and his hand closed around the bazookoid. He hefted it and cocked it. He raised his head and took a few steps to a slim tree off to his right. It wouldn’t provide much by way of protection, but it would give the Simulants another target. He held down the trigger, feeling the recoil of the bazookoid reverberate throughout his body.  
   
One of the Simulants returned fire in his direction, so he focused his shots on that one. He leaned away from the shots as they came at him, though one caught him in the upper chest. He gritted his teeth through the pain and returned fire. The tree suffered serious damage and eventually caught on fire. Finally, the Simulant went down. The other two, enraged, rounded on him.  
   
With the tree no longer offering any protection, Rimmer stepped into the open, dropped to the ground and opened fire. It wasn’t the ideal location, but it made a harder target for the pissed-off Simulants. They started toward him, blasts throwing up dirt and leaves all around him. He sank into himself, the noise of the bazookoid and the Simulant’s weapons evaporating. His vision narrowed to the flashes of weapon-fire, and he concentrated his blasts there.  
   
He no longer saw Lister or Kryten; he was only vaguely aware of which direction the Cat lay. A kind of white noise had settled over him, obscuring everything but the threat in front of him. Soon, only one Simulant returned fire. He carefully rose to his feet as he continued to shoot, then noticed a blinking red light in his peripheral vision. The bazookoid was losing power.  
   
His gaze flicked around the area, looking for a solution. The next flash of weapon’s fire from the Simulant was reflected directly beneath him; the Simulant was standing in water up to his ankles. Rimmer immediately lowered the bazookoid and fired into the water, causing a spark that short-circuited most of the creature.  
   
A battle-cry startled him out of the cocoon of silence he’d found himself in. Lister, now behind him, raised his bazookoid and fired at the Simulant, destroying it. Rimmer blinked rapidly. How had Lister and Kryten gotten behind him? Why weren’t they already in the ship?  
   
Belatedly, he realized: Cat. The Cat was now on his back with Kryten fussing at his shoulder with Lister looking on.  
   
Rimmer hoisted the bazookoid over his shoulder and walked up to them. “Let me help,” he stated quietly as he bent to take the Cat’s legs. Lister and Kryten balanced the Cat’s upper body between them and they started toward the ship.  
   
Cat groaned softly as he swayed. “Mommy, I don’t want to go to kitty school.”  
   
“Hang on, Cat,” Lister wheezed as they neared Starbug.  
   
Once at the steps, Rimmer turned so that he would back up first, allowing Kryten and Lister with their heavier load to face forward. It was less treacherous on the steps that way. He directed them to the medibay and held steady while Lister and Kryten gently turned Cat over and rested him chest-down on the bed.  
   
Rimmer stood at the foot of the bed, mind still reeling.  
   
“So, how’s it, Kryten?” Lister asked as the mechanoid engaged the diagnostic instruments.  
   
Kryten exclaimed solemnly, “Well, as I told you, sir, I don’t think he’ll survive it.”  
   
That snapped Rimmer out of whatever non-thoughts he’d been in. “The Cat’s dying?” he cried as he tried to spot other damage, but only saw the wound to Cat’s shoulder.  
   
Kryten sent him a confused look. “No, sir; the Cat should recover immediately as the heat-blast sealed the wound as fast as it made it. I was telling Mr. Lister that I didn’t think Cat would survive the loss of his suit, or the scar the wound will leave.”  
   
He staggered back, hand on his chest. “Smeg, don’t _scare_ me like that!” His breaths started coming shorter and his heart thudded hard in his chest; the beginnings of a panic attack.  
   
“Rimmer? Hey, Rimmer, sit down,” Lister’s voice penetrated the haze of fear and he felt himself pushed into a chair. He immediately bent over, head held in his hands.  
   
He sensed Lister kneel next to him, then heard his voice close to his ear. “I’m not surprised you’re freaking out, man. You took those Simulants down practically on your own. What’s got into you? I’ve never seen you hold a gun without one of us shoving it into your hands first.”  
   
“I don’t know,” he mumbled as he scrubbed at his face. A twinge of his left arm caught his attention, then full-blown pain erupted from the spot and he gasped. “Smegging hell, I’ve been hit!” he proclaimed shakily, prying at his shirt to see better.  
   
“Easy,” Lister tried to calm him, forcing his hands away to get a better look.  
   
He started to shake, whatever adrenaline rush or odd virus that had gotten into him wearing off to leave him his normal, cowardly, smeggy self. “Oh, God,” he muttered and started to rock back and forth. “What did I do?”  
   
“Hold steady, you git,” Lister admonished him as the wound was exposed. “It doesn’t look too bad. Kryten, what’d you make of it?”  
   
Rimmer felt sweat break out on his forehead and Kryten ‘tutted’ and ‘hmmed.’ “I’d say it’s about as bad as the Cat’s.”  
   
“Oh, God, I’m dying,” he wailed, building up to a good and proper panic, when he realized what Kryten had actually said. “Wait. No I’m not. You said that the Cat’s wound had healed itself.”  
   
“It has,” Kryten confirmed. “As has yours. The heat from the weapon must have melted your holobody back together. It’s still a wound and it will hurt, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage to your projection.”  
   
The panic began to subside and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’ll live?”  
   
Lister patted him on his good shoulder. “I’m afraid so, Rimmer. Oh, and to answer your question from earlier, I’d say you risked your life to save us,” he informed Rimmer with a wide grin.  
   
Rimmer blinked a few times, his mind processing everything up until that moment. He blinked some more, then squeaked out, “I did, didn’t I?”  
   
“Your distraction and removal of the Simulants allowed us time to get to shelter and then get to the Cat,” Kryten remarked from his position near the Cat, who was just coming around.  
   
“It did, didn’t it?” he repeated, amazed at himself. When had he gotten brave? When had he possessed a heroic streak? When had he wanted to save the others at his own expense? “Holly, run a diagnostic on my light projection and bee. I think something’s gone wonky,” he ordered. He ignored Lister’s calling of his name, instead focusing on the Cat’s revival.  
   
“Oh, no,” Cat whispered manically as he eyed the blood spatters on his suit. “This is a tragedy. This suit had so much life left!”  
   
Kryten patted his hand soothingly. “I know sir; try to remain calm.”  
   
Lister cheerily called over, “Come on, Cat. We survived an ambush by three Simulants; I think the sacrifice of your suit is an acceptable loss.”  
   
The Cat snarled at him. “Easy for you to say, Monkeyboy; you don’t have any fashion sense!”  
   
“Diagnostic complete,” Holly reported from the monitor. “Your projection and light-bee are working at optimal levels. No viruses or contaminants present.”  
   
“That can’t be right,” Rimmer objected, shaking his head. “I don’t go around being brave on a whim.”  
   
“I’m getting delirious,” the Cat moaned. “I swore I just heard Goalpost-Head say he was brave.”  
   
Lister bit his lip and looked between him and the Cat. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Cat, but Rimmer helped us save your life.”  
   
At that, Cat shot up to a sitting position on the bed, glowering at them. “What? I don’t owe that overgrown light bulb nothing.”  
   
“Sir,” Kryten interjected, shocking the hell out of Rimmer, “We wouldn’t have gotten away from the Simulants without Mr. Rimmer’s assistance. He destroyed two of them single-handedly.”  
   
“What, by being so ugly they killed themselves rather than look at him?” Cat hissed.  
   
Rimmer’s eyes followed Lister as he stood, his face darkened by annoyance. “No, by killing two of the Simulants himself and making it easy for me to finish the last one. He distracted them by taking the fire off of us. He even helped carry you in here.”  
   
The Cat was shaking his head in disbelief, then anger. “No. I refuse to believe that weasel did anything but save his own ass.”  
   
“Well, he didn’t shoot himself,” Kryten offered, pointing to the wound still exposed on his chest. “He took a hit when the Simulants were firing on him, rather than at the rest of us. I’d say you owe Mr. Rimmer your gratitude.”  
   
Cat’s eyes flicked between Lister and Kryten, obviously looking for the punchline. When none was forthcoming, he snarled and jumped down off the bed. He straightened his ruined suit then rubbed his shoulder. His gaze fell on Rimmer’s shoulder. He rubbed at his own wound again, then his face blanked.  
   
Without another word, Cat exited the medibay.  
   
Lister sighed. “I guess it was too much to hope,” he said to no one in particular. He turned to Rimmer, then. “You up for a celebratory drink, man? You deserve one.”  
   
His mouth opened and closed, not sure what to say. He’d never participated in a celebratory drink, never mind been the cause of one. “Okay?” he guessed as he rose to his feet and followed Lister out the door.  
   
“I’ve got just the thing to help you forget about your shoulder. Me own special homemade cure-all.”  
   
Rimmer stopped in his tracks. “No. I put my foot down at being brave when anything you’ve concocted is involved.” He shuddered involuntarily. “I’d rather face another Simulant.”  
   
“I’ll just get us airborne and back to Starbug, sirs,” Kryten politely avoided the entire drinking fiasco.  
   
“You do that, Krytes. Rimmer and me will have a drink for you.” Lister flung his arm over Rimmer’s shoulders, aggravating his wound.  
   
Rimmer shoved him off. “That _hurt_ , you ninny.” He pointed to his shoulder. “Wounded, remember?” He shook his head and continued walking toward the galley. “I swear, you have three brain cells, Lister, and two of them aren’t talking to each other.”  
   
“Hey, now,” Lister protested. “I’m trying to be nice to you, here.”  
   
He stopped and sighed. “I know. I just…I’m not used to it.” He shook his head to clear it. “Come on, then. I’ll drink whiskey and you can concoct whatever you want.”  
   
“All right!” Lister pumped his fist in the air and flung his arm across Rimmer’s shoulders a second time.  
   
Rimmer winced and heaved a deep sigh. Maybe being the hero of the day wasn’t worth the pain at the end of it.  
   
The End  



End file.
